Meeting (Chapter 13, Story 1)

To Hilda, Saturday seemed to take forever to arrive, but when it did, she put on a red and black gingham dress, baked a pie for her son and his bride, and instructed her husband, Will, to get into the car to leave. Hilda had lived in Scottsdale for a very long time, and knew her way around very well, but the address her son had given her was unfamiliar, so she consulted a map of Scottsdale kept in her glove compartment. "Oh my," she gasped suddenly. "What?" Will gave her a puzzled glance. "It's just that this address is..." Hilda didn't finish her sentence. It seemed that the street her son lived on was the same street she had had to drive down on her way to the police station, the street with the drinking woman and children playing in the busy street. "Never mind," she mumbled absentmindedly, "I'm probably all mixed up." But to Hilda's dismay, she was not at all mixed up. The very same ugly brown apartments that she had hurried past just a few days ago loomed before her as she search for a place to park. "Now, Will," she said, getting out of the car, "I don't really know what to expect, so be polite and try to remember that this is your son we are dealing with." Will just glanced at her and kept walking. Hilda and Will soon found the apartment. The doorbell was broken, so Hilda rapped loudly on the door. No one answered. She knocked again, but still no one came. "Maybe he forgot, Dear," Will suggested, turning to leave. "No, Will is too smart to forget," Hilda replied, and, just as she was reaching to knock a third time, to door swung open. James stood in the threshold, an embarrassed grin on his face. "Sorry, Mom. I couldn't hear you." He stepped aside to allow Hilda and Will into the apartment. It was dark and musty inside, with a distinct scent of beer, cigarette smoke, and window cleaner. There was a lone couch in the middle of the room, and a hallway with a single door on either side of it. "Well, James, this is interesting," Hilda said slowly. "Yeah, It's not much, but it works. Would you two like to sit down?" Hilda eyed the couch, which appeared to have a strange gray film covering it. Will cleared his throat and, grabbing his wife's arm, sat on the couch, pulling Hilda with him. James pulled up a wooden bar stool and smiled. "So, Dad, how are you?" "Fine, Son, and you?" "I'm okay. Thanks for asking." Will nodded. James glanced at Hilda and winced at the dismayed look she was trying to disguise. "The house doesn't usually look like this, Mom. Karen just didn't have time to...you know, clean up." "Certainly," Hilda mumbled. "James, Darling, why does is smell like someone has been smoking?" she asked. "What? Oh, it's the neighbors. The guy next door must smoke five packs a day, at least. Smells up the whole floor. It's terrible." "Uh huh," Hilda grunted. "Then why is there a pack of cigarettes on the floor over there?" "What?" James jumped up, grabbed the cigarettes, and tossed them into an empty flower pot. "Well, the guy comes over sometimes. He always brings those things in here, even though I tell him not to." "Well," Hilda said, sniffing, "you ought to tell him again. He shouldn't be smoking around your wife, especially in her condition." At this, Hilda smiled. "Where is your wife by the way, James?" The color quickly drained from James' face. "Wife? Karen? She's not here right now. In fact, maybe this isn't a very good time. Maybe you both should come by another day, after we've had time to straighten up." James jumped up to lead his parents to the door. Hilda glared at him. A strained silent choked the air for what seemed likes hours. Suddenly, a high-pitched, nasally voice broke the silence. "Jack? Can I come out yet?" "Who is that?" Hilda demanded. One of the hall doors opened and a thin, pale woman with rollers in her hair and a cigarette hanging from her cracking lips appeared. "Oh, dear Lord," Hilda whispered, grabbing Will's hand. It was none other than the old drinking woman she'd seen when she was driving to the police station. James had gone very pale, and he glanced nervously from his mother to the woman who had entered the room. "Well, mother, this is Karen. "What?" Hilda yelped. "Her? You married her?" "Well, yes, Mom, she's really great, really." "How old is she? And why is she calling you Jack?" Hilda stared hard at the woman, appalled by her rough appearance. She guessed that Karen was at least forty, probably ten or twenty years beyond that. "She's twenty-five, Mom. Only two years older than me."